It began with a distant whump, felt more than heard.
Or his subconscious invented those details, in an effort to bring order out of chaos. All that Teljod Kelmar knew for certain, a suddenly keening alarm having jolted him awake, was that something must have gone wrong.
One thing he did know: the ship had dropped, without warning, into normal space. There could be no mistaking the mind-fogging, stomachs-churning, turned-inside-out-and-back-again experience of the transition.
Terribly, catastrophically, wrong.
"Antimatter confinement has destabilized," Ship announced. The AI's emotionless . . .